


Let us not Tarry While The Winds Blow True

by Zaeli_Echo



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AND BILBO IS COMPLETELY OBLIVIOUS, Bilbo is So Done, Bilbo sees that, But he hides behind a bitchface, Dori ships it so hard, Dwalin Is A Softie, Dwalin sees more than he lets on, Especially with this cute new navigator, Fili and Kili and Bofur are huge flirts, Fíli and Kíli Are Little Shits, Gandalf is such a bagginshield shipper, Hoo-boy, I fucking love pirates you can't judge me for it, It's Ridiculous, Jealous Thorin, LITERALLY, M/M, Mutual Pining, One or two OCs that don't have very big roles, Orcrist is a merrow-built ship, Ori is a cinnamon roll, Pirate AU, Slow Build, Slow Burn, That makes for…, The ring is helpful, The ship is called Deathless, Then Thorin finds Orcrist, Thorin has the most FABULOUS hat, Thorin is a Softie, Thorin is shy, WHICH IS STUPID CUTE, and often goes to him for comfort, briefly mentioned mer!lock crossover, even though both are far to proud to admit it, he's so gay it hurts, mostly because he doesn't understand Khuzdul, so it's crazy fast, which only makes Thorin more jealous
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaeli_Echo/pseuds/Zaeli_Echo
Summary: Mh'ara is very happy tending his garden and keeping to his little merrow self until this BLOODY MEDDLING WIZARD decides that he had better get his head out from under his tail and help a crew of BLOODY STINKING PIRATES so that he can save the WHOLE BLOODY WORLD from a BLOODY TYRANNICAL USURPER. This BLOODY MEDDLING WIZARD could have told him that the captain was going to be BLOODY ROCKHEAD STUBBORN not to mention BLOODY FUCKING GORGEOUS.





	1. I don't like bottles landing in my garden, thank you very much.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All Ahead, Full Sail](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043557) by [durinsheir (ShadowChanger)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowChanger/pseuds/durinsheir). 



 

The soft rustle of the current echoed through the open window of bag-end, waking a disgruntled merman from his nap.

 

 _Thump_.

 

         “Gamgee? Why so early?” The merrow called, expecting the tawny head of his neighbor and gardener to pop into view. It didn’t.

 

         “Gamgee?” Mh’ara called again, flicking his pelvic fins and floating to the window, long curly hair floating about his head in a feathery halo.

 

_Thump_

 

Mh’ara flicked his fins again and slipped through the open window, bright hazel eyes flicking about for the source of the sound.

 

_Thump_

 

This time, the sound came from right next to him, and he found it was a smattering of bottles.

 

         “Land-walkers.” He snarled, pointed teeth bared as he glared upwards at the distant surface. Upon closer inspection, he found the bottles should not have sunk. They were sealed, one of them holding a coiled piece of parchment paper. Intrigued, the merrow pulled the cork out of the first bottle, expecting the parchment inside to dissolve as it came in contact with seawater. To his surprise, it stayed perfectly dry, soft and leathery under his webbed fingers.

 

         _ **To the** **merrow** **Mh’ara Sciobtha.**_

_**If my letter has found you, I assume you to be active and in good health. I have a proposition for you. Come to the wreckage of the ship Baggins by** **the Brandywine current at moonhigh tonight. I will be waiting for you.** _

_**P.S. My apologies for the extra bottles. I had to get your attention somehow.** _

_**~  Gandalf** _

 

         “How odd.” Mh’ara mused, swishing his pelvic fins gently to keep himself steady in the shifting waters. The merrow’s curiosity was piqued, however, and there was no better way to sate it than meeting this “Gandalf.”

 

Mind made up, the broad tail fins flicked again and the merrow surged toward the surface, swirling to a stop when he could see the position of the sun. It was just barely visible on the horizon, slipping quickly out of sight. The Brandywine current was maybe a 10-minute swim from Bag-end, so Bilbo surfaced the rest of the way, expelling all of the water out of his lungs to close his gills and heaving himself onto the nearby outcropping, allowing the silky sea breeze to wash over his exposed skin and pale cyan scales. His pelvic fins fluttered delicately in the wind, the thin membranes shot through with fine gold filaments, each no wider than a strand or two of his silky brown hair. His dorsal fin flattened against his back as he draped across the stone, giving a languid sigh.

 

          _A short nap won’t hurt anything, and this breeze is just_ _heavenly_ _…_ The merrow draped an arm across his face and closed his eyes, the last rays of the sun warming his skin.

 


	2. I learned from the best, as annoying as he was.

 

         Two hours later, Mh’ara’s mental alarm clock went off, rousing him from his nap. Opening his eyes, he glanced at the moon, and found it floating just shy of its peak.

 

         “ _Deposiut._ ” The merrow cursed under his breath and rolled off the outcropping, gills reopening as he sank beneath the waves with a yawn. A flick of broad tailfins, and he was diving toward the seafloor, following a smaller tributary current to the Brandywine. Upon reaching the current, the merrow stayed off to the side, eddy hopping. Any ocean-folk worth his salt knew not to dive into the heart of any large current. It would sweep you away and tear you to pieces on the wrecks dotting its course. The wreckage of the three-masted schooner _Baggins_ loomed at the center of the current, and Mh’ara angled upward, skirting the current.

 

         “Gandalf?” The merrow called softly after he closed his gills.

 

Muffled speech sounded from somewhere behind him, and he about-faced, flattening his dorsal fin and flicking his pelvic fins. A frigate floated just to the port of the current, and the decks were crawling with land-folk. Giving another curse, the merrow dove back under the water. Making sure he was far enough down to be mistaken for a dolphin or small whale, he swam to the ship, keeping his pelvic fins close to his body and using only his arms and hands to keep himself upright. Deep creaks and moans came from the ship as it listed gently in the waves. Mh’ara pinned his ears against the assault, but drifted closer until he could pull his torso out of the water with the help of the thick anchor-chain.

 

          _‘Mh’ara Sciobtha, what in sweet Yavanna’s name are you doing? You’ve heard the stories. You know what the land-folk will do if they see you!’_ A voice in the back of the merrow’s mind hissed. He ignored it, ears still pinned against his head.

 

        A rough voice rung out from the upper deck, startling the merrow. The creaking of the ship quieted as the starboard anchor was dropped, sinking quickly to the seabed to land with a dull _thud_. The merrow unpinned his ears as the voice called something else in a rough deep language that Mh’ara didn’t recognize.

 

         “We moor here for the night, then we sail to the port at Mirkwood. Gandalf said that we are to meet the new navigator there.” A younger voice chimed in, similar to the first voice, but not as deep.

 

         “Fíli, Kíli, Check the anchor chains. We need to know if they need cleaning when we dock.” The first voice called in Common.

 

Mh’ara didn’t realize what was going on until too late, finding himself under the quiet - but startled - scrutiny of a young man - no more than twenty, by the merrow’s reckoning. The merrow was frozen, feeling like a fish in a serpent’s gaze as the young man slowly swung himself over the railing and climbed down toward Mh’ara, eyes locked with his the entire time. The young man slipped when he was about a tail-length from the merrow, and the spell was broken. He let go of the anchor chain and dove into the water, streaking back towards the current as fast as his tail would carry him. In his haste, he completely forgot to watch where he was swimming, and ran smack into a small dinghy, almost overturning it with the force of the collision.

 

         “Where are you going in such a hurry, little merrow?” The sole inhabitant of the boat gave a chuckle as the rocking came to a stop.

 

         “I believe to meet you.” Mh’ara growled, rubbing the shoulder with which he had nearly capsized the little boat.

 

         “If you were looking for Gandalf, then you are correct. Hello Mh’ara.” The land-walker smiled at him around the long-stemmed pipe in his teeth.

 

         “You want me to be a navigator for yonder frigate.” The merrow growled again rather irritably.

 

The tall land-walker raised one bushy eyebrow in surprise.

 

         “The land-folk on the ship said something about docking at a nearby shore settlement to meet you and some _navigator_. I simply put two and two together.” He leveled a stern look at Gandalf.

 

         “Ah. Do not think I doubted your intelligence, but that was impressive.”

 

Bilbo’s thoughts flashed back to the brilliant, irritable, hermetic curly-haired detective merrow who had disappeared from the Shire not a year earlier. “I learned from the best.”

 

         “I’d imagine so.” There was a mysterious twinkle in the land-walker’s eyes as he smiled. “And what is your reply to my not-yet-stated proposition?”

 

 _ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY,  IRREVOCABLY NOT!!_ the merrow’s Sciobtha side shrieked, but it was drowned out by a quiet whispering voice that simply asked _What would Es’nace do?_

 

         “I’ll go.” The words tumbled from his lips without permission, but the merrow found that he couldn’t argue with that little whisper that had simply asked what his dearest mother would choose.

 

The land-walker’s eyebrows disappeared into the shadow of his broad-brimmed hat.

 

         “I can only say that I cannot disgrace one I loved dearly by hiding at the seafloor with my tail draped over my head.”

 

         “I must warn you--”

 

         “Do not tell me the odds, wizard. You are one, are you not?” The merrow cut Gandalf off with a wave of his hand. “The wizard my mother was always going on about in her stories?”

 

The wizard nodded, a conspiratorial smile creeping over his aged features.

 

          “Good, then I trust you to lead this band of miscreant pirates and I to something other than certain demise.” The merrow poked the wizard in the nose. “I assure you that I am _not_ going with my tail. I don’t know how much of her stories were true, but Es’nace claimed that an ocean-child could possess legs. She never said how, but considering that you want me to accompany the vagabonds, there must be some way.” The merrow examined his shoulder, face twisting into a grimace at the smattering of purple-blue bruises that had started to appear.

 

          “There is, but I must warn you, it is not exactly pleasant.” The wizard reached into a fold of his grey robes and pulled out a small, rather inconspicuous-looking gold ring.

 

Mh’ara waved a hand at the wizard.

  
         “I will not transform tonight. Meet me at the outcropping two clicks west of here tomorrow at first light. I will be waiting.” The merrow let go of the boat and sunk beneath the surface, skirting to current and swimming back to the Bag-End, a place he had a feeling he would not see again for a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

**A/N -- > Yes, I did make a mention of mer!lock in this chapter. I likely won't do it again, but I couldn't pass it up.**


	3. This Dwalin character knows something. I can feel it...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Transformation is painful.  
> ~Enter the company.  
> ~Mh'ara decides on an alias.  
> ~ Dwalin is a softie.  
> ~ Thorin is his usual self.  
> ~ Damn this meddling wizard.

Mh’ara was napping on the same rocky outcropping when Gandalf appeared the next morning.

 

         “Good light, Gandalf.” He chirped, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

 

         “Good light, Mh’ara. I brought along clothes for after your transformation,” The merrow’s face twisted into a grimace at the thought of them. “But I must warn you, you may want something to bite on.” The wizard held out a thick leather belt.

 

         “I do hope you’re not too attached to that belt. I’ll likely end up punching a few new holes.” The merrow took it and lowered himself into the boat, letting his tail fins hang loosely over the side as he slid on the ring.

 

The pain was instantaneous. It started a slow, dull ache where skin turned to scales. The ache increased tenfold as he felt something shift under his hips. He dug his teeth into the belt as he watched his beautiful blue scales flake off by the handful. A sudden line of fire seemed to run down the length of his tail. He blacked out as something below his hips gave a sickly-sounding _snap._

 

* * *

 

 

M’hara woke to Gandalf waving a hand across his face, muttering something in… What was it, Sindarin?

 

         “Gandalf.” The merrow rasped, struggling to sit up.

 

         “Easy does it, Mh’ara. There there, my boy. I disposed of most of the scales. The few I kept I made into this. It will help you remember your homeland. Not enchanted. Just a reminder.” The greybeard pointed at the merrow’s tai-- no. Not tail. _Legs_. In place of his tail, there were two land-walker appendages. Complete with a string of his own pale cobalt scales wrapped around his right ankle.

 

         “My hands are still somewhat webbed.” He observed detachedly, still marveling at the changes that had taken place while he was unconscious.

 

         “Your teeth are still sharp as well. You must be careful not to draw too much attention to those abnormalities. Here, this will help with your hands.” The wizard took the merrow’s small dexterous hands in his own and muttered something else in Sindarin. When he removed his hands, the webbing had disappeared, but there was a faint blue scale pattern across the back of each hand. It was almost imperceptible, but the merrow marveled over it anyway. “Not only that, but you still can activate your gills. They will open automatically if you submerge, but that you must be careful with as well.” Gandalf reached for the oars, but M’hara stopped him, reaching his hand over the side of the boat until his hand was completely submerged, and sending out a quick pattern of snaps. Not thirty seconds later, a pod of dolphins surfaced nearby.

 

         “ _Adiuva nos amici._ ” He murmured in Merrin. The dolphins chattered happily and took hold of the tie-ropes Mh’ara tossed into the water. Within moments the small dinghy was scudding through the water at speed.

 

* * *

 

The dinghy was being tied up by Gandalf when Mh’ara first attempted to stand.

 

         “ _Ter pedes condemnabitur!!_ ” The merrow cursed, failing once more to find his balance.

 

Gandalf looked over his shoulder, looking somewhat amused. “I’d suggest trying first on steady ground.” He lifted the shorter figure onto the solid wood planks with an ease that belied his age and set him on a bench. “It may be easier for you to find your feet from there.” His blue eyes still twinkled with amusement.

 

         “Thank you, Gandalf,” Mh’ara mumbled, biting his lip in concentration.

 

         “Having trouble there, laddie?” A low, rumbling voice sounded behind the merrow, startling him.

 

The fright of the voice was enough to push him to his feet, and he found himself crouched slightly, hands low and teeth bared. It was an instinctual reaction, but it still drew a hearty laugh from Gandalf.

 

         “Oh, I’m sorry if I frightened you, laddie. It seems that may have helped you though.” Mh’ara found himself having to look up to see the face of the figure who had frightened him.

 

         Mh’ara straightened, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “My apologies for such a reaction. You simply caught me off guard.” The figure looked down at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

         “No need to be sorry, laddie. I know plenty of dwarves who would have near-beheaded me in their surprise.” He chuckled. “Ah, Gandalf. Thorin said I would find you here. I am to take you to the inn at which we are staying.”

 

 _So he’s a dwarf._ Mh’ara thought to himself as he forced his legs to comply and follow Gandalf and the dwarf who had been sent to fetch them.

 

         “Ah, Dwalin! There you are! Thought you may have been spirited off by some barmaid.” Another dwarf with dark braided hair and merrily twinkling eyes called as Gandalf and his escort marched through the door, Mh’ara trailing behind cautiously.

 

         “Laddie, ‘re you with Gandalf?” The first dwarf - presumably Dwalin - noticed that the smaller figure had followed and was looking him over.

 

         “I am,” Mh’ara said shakily, trying his hardest to hold Dwalin’s questioning gaze.

 

         “By my beard… I tell you what laddie, don’t let yourself be discouraged by the crew, especially the Captain. They’re a bit rough around the edges, but they’ll have taken to ya’ instantly. Don’t be afraid.” The dwarf placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly.

 

         “C’mon Gandalf, Dwalin.” The dwarf who had greeted Dwalin before stood from his barstool and paced past Mh’ara, the two he had addressed following behind.

 

         “C’mon laddie. You first.” Dwalin waved the merrow ahead, knuckle-dusters clinking quietly in the din of the tavern. Mh’ara nodded timidly and complied, fighting to keep his tread quiet and posture confident.

 

Stairs were a new challenge for Mh’ara’s new legs, but once he conquered them - with a little help from Dwalin - their guide led them into a spacious room crowded with dwarves.

 

         “Head high, laddie. Chin up, shoulders open. Show no fear.” Mh’ara heard Dwalin rumble in a low voice behind him as they filed into the room.

 

         “Oy, Dwalin. We told you not to allow strangers to come questioning. Escort him out.” A portly dwarf with pewter beads in his beard pointed at Mh’ara, who leveled an easy stare at him.

 

         Dwalin laid a hand on the merrow’s shoulder. “He’s with Gandalf, so, therefore, is no stranger.” Mh’ara kinked an eyebrow at the red-haired dwarf, who turned a mellow shade of red at the challenging stare.

 

         “Why you--!” He spluttered angrily. “The nerve of that creature! Did you not see that? Outright challenging!”

 

         “And if that was my point, Master Dwarf?” Mh’ara commented, examining his fingernails in faux-pomposity, growing bolder by the minute.

 

         “Then you will fit right in.” A younger voice cut in, and Mh’ara turned to find a young dwarf with long dark hair and sharp hazel eyes watching the exchange with a look of amusement.

 

Mh’ara froze, struggling to keep himself from shifting his weight conspicuously. That was the very young man who had seen him on the anchor chain.

 

 _Does he recognize me?_ _No, he’s smiling. Wait, does that mean he_ ** _does_** _know and is gonna tell the rest? What will they do to me? Can he see the scaling on my hands? Are my teeth too obvious?_ The merrow’s thoughts were racing frantically. The young man’s voice broke through and the merrow collected himself.

 

         “Don’t let Gloín get to you. He’s all talk.” The young man laughed as Gloín spluttered indignantly some more behind Mh’ara. “I’m Kíli, and this is my brother Fíli.” He gestured at the fair-haired dwarf who had appeared beside him, who nodded and offered the merrow a quiet smile. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, mister…” Kíli trailed off, and Mh’ara realized that his name might give away his species.

 

He thought on it for a moment, fiddling with the thin silver chain that held a single one of the merrow’ scales.

 

         “Mmh… Baggins. Bilbo Baggins.” He finally decided, thinking of the grand schooner that still held against the fierce Brandywine current, even fifty years after she originally sunk. The name Bilbo had just been a whim. A combination of sounds that the merrow found pleasing. He received a knowing look and another one of those quiet smiles from Fíli at the pause, but the older brother said nothing, apparently willing to let him keep his secrets.

 

         “Well, Mister Baggins, the Captain should be here soon. I suggest you take a seat.” Dwalin removed his hand from the merrow’s shoulder - Mh’ara (no, Bilbo) had forgotten it was there - and gestured at an empty chair near the end of the table next to where Gandalf had seated himself. Mh’a-- _Bilbo_ nodded and made his way over, carefully picking his way across the room and managing not to step on anyone’s toes. He lowered himself into the cushioned chair and fixed his eyes on the door, playing once more with his necklace. Thus, he was the first to notice the rather regal-seeming figure enter the room, quietly making his way over to the chair at the head at the table… _right next to M--Bilbo_. The merrow - no… Hobbit. Yes, that was a believable race name - swallowed hard as the figure seated himself and waited for the assembly to realize his presence. It didn’t take as long a Bilbo expected, but given the air that this supposed-captain gave off, he wasn’t really surprised when it took less than a minute for silence to ripple across the room.

 

         “I trust you all know me, so I will not bother to introduce myself. Straight down to business then, we--” The captain had started speaking, but was interrupted by Kíli, who pointed at Bilbo and said, “Master Baggins doesn’t know who you are.”

 

The mer-- _Hobbit_ had to force himself not to shrink under the stare of the captain, who was scrutinizing him with startling steel-blue eyes.

 

        “Gandalf? Is this our _navigator_?” The captain’s icy eyes never left Bilbo, even as he addressed the hobbit’s companion.

 

        “He is. Captain Thorin Durin, may I present to you Bilbo Baggins, a native of these waters and your new navigator.” The wizard said, casting a glance at Gloín, who was still a shade of ruddy crimson that matched his beard exquisitely.

 

The steel blue eyes stayed locked with Bilbo’s, but they now held a silvery undertone of surprise and incredulity. Bilbo shook his curls out of his eyes and held the captain’s stare evenly, adding a note of challenge by kinking an eyebrow.

 

         “Pleasure to meet you, captain Durin. I must cut off any condescending statements I see you brewing. I know more of the waters within a twelve-hundred nautical miles radius of this place than your saltiest seamen. Test my knowledge if you must, but I do not believe that I will take kindly to being talked down at. In the figurative sense, of course, seeing as I’m at least a head shorter than the shortest dwarrows I have seen in my lifetime.” The hobbit chirped, still boldly holding Thorin’s stare.

 

         “We haven’t time for trivia, captain.” Dwalin rumbled from the captain’s other side, earning an appreciative glance from the hobbit across from him. “Azog’s mercenaries were sighted at a port two day’s travel north from here. Thus, we need to get moving.”

 

         “Aye, and not two days ago I spotted a brig flying his colors sailing past two clicks northwest of here.” A ginger-haired dwarf with a frankly ridiculous looking style job spoke up from his place between a young dwarfling (maybe a year or two younger than Kíli) and a stately-looking older dwarf with a silver beard braided in a single stiff protrusion from the bottom of his chin.

 

         “Right you are, Nori. If you lot had let me speak you would have heard me say that we depart this very night.” The captain growled, earning another moment of silence. “Make haste. We leave at five sharp.” The captain growled and stood, gesturing for the white-bearded dwarf beside Dwalin to follow.

 


End file.
